#roundelet

[chubstilinski]

@roundelet replied to your post “Got commissioned for another round of Gut Feeling epilogue/timestamp!...”

Have you thought about posting your timestamps on ao3? they're so polished and I keep going back and searching to find them in your blog when I reread one of your fics (which I MAY have done once or twice)

alsdkfjlksdfjj; thank youuuu 💖 you know it’s funny bc my gf has been trying to convince me to do that for like months?? I’ve been avoiding it but she just talked me into it earlier today soooo... yep lmao it might happen sometime

[seven-lbs]

20 prompts from roundelet

just found roundelet’s amazing chubby fanfic prompt generator. omg. I could be here all day. Feel free to use for inspiration:

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby John, Chubby Sherlock, Mutual Weight Gain, John is still a little embarrassed about his weight gain: It's Sherlock who found his family's old recipes but John who's been experiencing the most expansive effects.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Established Relationship, Proposal, Sherlock doesn't know where these 25 pounds came from, Sexual Frustration: John is into Sherlock's recent weight gain. Really into it.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby John, Blind Date, Stuffing, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, John finally notices the softness of his once defined waistline: Sherlock had always known that bigger bellies were attractive and now he can't stop thinking about John's perfect tummy.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby John, Weight Gain, Pining John: John tends to mindlessly snack throughout the day. If Sherlock makes sure there are plenty of snacks around, he's only being considerate, right?

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Chubby John, Out of Shape, Mutual Weight Gain, First Time, Sherlock can take a hint: They have put on a good 15 pounds each since John started culinary school and enlisted Sherlock as his taste tester.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Established Relationship, Jealous Sherlock, Accidental Weight Gain, Sherlock can't zip his coat over his belly: Since Sherlock found that new bakery and promptly went up 10 pounds, it's hard to find clothes in his closet that still fit him.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby John, Chubby Kink: Judging by what the scale said last night, John might be enjoying Sherlock's homecooked meals a little too much.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Hooking Up, Accidental Weight Gain, PTSD: The nightmares still wake him up more nights than not. But then Sherlock realizes that being full, sometimes a little beyond full, helps a lot.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Fuck Buddies, First Time, Sherlock puts on some holiday weight, Body Confidence: Sherlock likes that he's getting fat, but he's isn't ready to flaunt it, so he still sucks in his belly whenever he sees John.

But, sooner or later, seeing as the numbers on the scale aren't exactly going down, he knows he's not going to be able to hide his significant weight gain.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby John, Chubby Kink, being full helps John sleep, Sweet Tooth: Sherlock discovers John's sweet tooth and takes full advantage.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Button Popping, Confessions, a demon curses Sherlock to gain weight, Holidays: Sherlock opens his parents' present only to find pants in a size he's not going to be fitting into anytime soon.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Chubby John, Accidental Weight Gain, Established Relationship, Sherlock loses a button: Sherlock's waistline has taken the brunt of it but even John has put on a few pounds.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Unintentional Weight Gain, First Time, Sherlock's weight gain is obvious in the heavy curve of a belly that had been flat not all that long ago: Sherlock finally acknowledges that he's getting chubby when it takes him five minutes to get his work pants fastened.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Measurement Kink, Sherlock packs on 15 pounds when he finally learns how to relax, stress eating: Sherlock and John are getting married in 2 days and Sherlock is too chubby for his tux.

John, naturally, thinks this is hilarious.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby John, Button Popping, John's shirt is indecently tight, John is not so oblivious: It's getting inconvenient for Sherlock, getting turned on whenever he watches John eat so much he can barely move.

The consequences of John's pigging out, which are getting all the more obvious by his growing belly lately, aren't exactly making it any easier.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Established Relationship, Outgrowing Clothes, Sherlock doesn't believe in not cleaning his plate: John has started to use Sherlock's tummy as a pillow.

John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Chubby Sherlock, Accidental Weight Gain, Sherlock can't fit into his nice suit: Sherlock doesn't know where these 20 pounds came from. Or even when they first started showing up.

[roundelet]

3 4 & 12 ??

3. Do you enjoy belly rubs? (Giving or receiving?)

Yes. Giving.

4. Do you enjoy being a feedee or a feeder?

Neither? I’m more of an admirer of chubbiness. Like, I see a co-worker across the room who looks like he has no idea how hard his button down is straining across his belly today and it’s really hard to look away. But only one of my past partners has been chubby. It’s not something I require. Though if I had a partner who wanted to gain weight or just happened to gain weight, I wouldn’t exactly complain about it.

12. Tiny stuffed bellies or huge stuffed bellies?

Okay, give me someone who’s 50, 60, maybe 100 pounds up from their usual weight. Whose wardrobe hasn’t quite caught up yet. Who isn’t used to all the space they take up these days. Who’s a little off balance, a little clumsy, whose belly knocks into things, is starting to get in the way when they bend over to tie their shoes.

Their clothes don’t fit that well even before dinner. (They haven’t admitted they aren’t a large anymore, or that they need to get pants a size or two bigger–yet again.) But after a big meal, when they shouldn’t have taken seconds or thirds, and shouldn’t have had dessert at all, probably–they’re trying to get this under some semblance of control, for god’s sake–and they instead finish that huge second piece of pie that’s really more like two regular slices? After a dinner that’s obviously only going to make the situation worse?

That large shirt can’t begin to hide anymore how their belly has filled out, swollen and round under a soft layer of pudge. They spend a good portion of the day making sure their shirt doesn’t ride up, but now, they have to give up because hiding the pale, pudgy bottom of their belly is hopeless right now.

And let’s not talk about their pants, or the way they’d not so subtly undone the top button even before that second piece of pie.

Thanks for the ask, anon!

[roundelet]

Oh my god, the way that last chapter ended! "Touch me here." Yesssss that's beautiful and perfect and I cannot wait for more.

Aww, thanks so much! I don’t think many places beyond our little corner of kinkiness does “please touch my belly” count as a cliffhanger.

[roundelet]

Next/last part of the chubby!Derek thing! It’s unapologetic fluff and gratuitous descriptions of Derek’s chub. And finally earns itself an explicit rating.

I have couple more ideas for a continuation, but am currently preoccupied with/excited about a new chubby!Stiles fic.

Hmm. Maybe I should give this a name, though.

Thanks for reading along!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

But Stiles does, apparently, put out on the second date.

They're on the sidewalk outside Stiles's apartment building. The movie got out late, and, after a stop for ice cream afterwards, it's well past midnight. But Stiles hasn't felt this awake all summer.

Derek had kissed him goodnight. Maybe it was supposed to be a chaste kiss. But it went on a little too long. And when Derek grabbed his head, deepened the kiss, and Stiles moaned into his mouth?

Well, now they're making out on the front stoop of Stiles's apartment building.

"Come upstairs?" Stiles murmurs between kisses. He hooks his fingers into Derek’s belt loops.

"Stiles." Derek's voice is rough, his eyes wide and hungry.

Stiles tugs him forward so he can grind his already aching dick against Derek's groin. Except--instead of that happening, Derek's belly bounces into his own stomach.

Stiles can't help the giggle that escapes him.

Derek pulls back to ask drily, "What is it, Stiles?"

"Nothing." Stiles grins. He looks down at the top of Derek's belly and gives it pat. And then lets his hand linger, because it feels *nice*. Derek must be full from all that food--he'd eaten easily twice as much as Stiles between the dinner and an extra large popcorn and splitting a banana split not quite evenly--but the flesh of his belly is still soft. "I can't believe I forgot about this."

Derek's stiffens and steps back from him.

"No, no, where are you going?" Stiles whines. He tries--and fails--to pull him back in.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," Derek says unhappily.

"What? Why?"

Derek averts his eyes. "Look, you don't have to pretend. I know how you feel."

"You know how I feel about what?" Stiles asks cautiously. But his heart is jittering, and erection wilting, because Derek can really only be talking about one thing. Obviously he found out that Stiles might possibly have already made Derek a spare key to his apartment, and had a fantasy or twelve about what his dad's toast is going to be at their wedding. And might have already named their adopted werewolf children.

So it takes Stiles a long moment to get out of his own head and register it when Derek says: "I don't blame you. I know I'm not much to look at right now. I'll work on it."

Stiles feels his own eyes widen when he gets his meaning. In relief, he bursts out, "Oh my god, Derek, I don't care that you're fat!"

At that, Derek's jaw clenches tighter.

"Not that you're fat,” he says hastily. “Just that you're getting fat. No, not that you're getting fat. You're just putting on a lot of weight?" Shit. None of that sounds particularly reassuring. Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping down. "I just don't care, okay? You're so fucking hot and I'm two seconds of friction away from coming in my pants right now. Or at least I was until you started getting all insecure and freaking me out."

Somehow, something in that flurry of words must have reassured Derek, because he looks back up at Stiles and his eyes are softer, posture less defensive.

So Stiles grabs him by the wrist and says, "Will you just come upstairs already? I'd really really like it if you come upstairs." Then gets suddenly shy. "I mean, only if you want to. I know you wanted to take this slow. You don't have to."

"And if I do come up with you?" Derek finally says. "What will you do then?"

"Uh. Honestly?" Stiles's mouth is suddenly dry. He licks his lips. "Probably beg you to fuck me."

He slides an arm around Stiles's waist. "Promise?"

Derek manhandles Stiles backwards into his room. Stiles flicks the lightswitch on but Derek turns it back off as he crosses the doorway. Stiles opens his mouth to protest but then Derek pushes him back onto the bed, and, okay, yeah. At least the streetlights still shine through his window; he doesn’t need supernatural night vision to see Derek. And, right now, he's so on board with this that he can't even bring himself to be self-conscious that his bed is unmade and he hasn't changed the sheets in at least two weeks. (Maybe three.)

Derek is lifting Stiles's hips up, tugging his jeans off, and then his underwear. Then he kneels one leg onto the edge of the bed, between Stiles's thighs. Stiles eagerly shoves himself upright and lets Derek strips off his t-shirt. Stiles reaches for Derek’s fly. His jeans are fastened low and they're his new bigger ones but they're tighter than they looked. Too tight for Stiles to unbutton by himself. When Stiles complains impatiently, “Come on, help me out here,” Derek pushes his hands away and sucks in deep to unbutton his jeans himself.

When Derek straightens back up, Stiles reaches out to feel the lower part of his belly, bigger now that his jeans aren’t cutting into it. It's impossibly soft, and the skin must be sensitive because Derek's breath catches when Stiles gives it a stroke. Stiles pushes up into the soft flesh experimentally, letting the weight of it rest in his hands. It's heavy, full with fat and too much food.

Derek leans forward to give Stiles a dirty kiss as he pushes Stiles down and kneels between his thighs.

"Fuck," Stiles says. He hooks his legs around Derek's waist and slides his hands up the roll of flesh over his sides, around to his back. His back isn't quite chubby enough to grab onto but he digs his fingers in anyways.

Then Derek pushes him further up the bed. And, in one movement, he lifts Stiles's hips up and takes his dick all the way down his mouth to the back of his throat and *sucks*.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh god, fuck you, jesus. *Derek*." Stiles arches his back, squeezes his eyes shut. He just can't *handle* this, okay? He's trembling as Derek licks up his dick and pulls his mouth off of him with a pop.

"Don't come yet," Derek tells him.

"Then you can't *do* that," Stiles groans, fisting his hands into his bedcovers. Derek is licking the wet precome off his dick now. "It's been forever, I'm not going to last, fuck--This is going to get embarrassing really soon, Der."

"Oh yeah?" Derek says, finally abandoning Stiles's cock and crawling him up over him, grazing Stiles's nipple with his teeth on the way. Stiles clenches his jaw. "How long has it been, Stiles?"

"Jackass, you know exactly how long it's been," Stiles says. He tries to get his breathing under control even as Derek turns his attention to his other nipple.

"Do I?" Derek gives his nipple a long bruising suck. Then he scoots himself up to bracket Stiles's head with his thick arms. "Does that mean that all those months, you didn't let any college kids fuck you?"

Stiles is too strung out on arousal right now to even think of playing it cool. "You *know* I didn't. You're the only one who's ever fucked me, you jerk."

"No one else?" Derek's eyes are intense. He looks surprised. "Was I the first?"

"Don’t pretend you don’t know that," he says, and squeezes the rolls of Derek's love handles just because they feel good. Sure, Stiles had exchanged handjobs and blowjobs with some random hookups at parties his freshman year. But he'd never fucked, or been fucked, by anyone until Derek.

"I didn't. I didn’t know. I’m sorry." Derek gaze is intense with something Stiles can’t define. "I could have done it differently."

"Jesus, I didn't need a bed of rose petals or something," Stiles says, embarrassed. And, okay, maybe he *has* craved romance and I-love-you's and real dates all along. Maybe he's always been as pathetic as he is now. But he still remembers the shock of of Derek even wanting him at all. And that was enough. Still would be, really. "It was fine."

"Fine?" Derek repeats, then shakes his head.

He settles himself on top of Stiles, still taking most of his weight on his elbows, but he lets his belly, which has been hanging down fatter than ever, press into Stiles's flat stomach. His dick brushes against Stiles's.

Stiles lets out a curse.

"I can give you better than fine," Derek says.

Stiles takes a deep breath and smirks, needs to lighten the mood. "Yeah, big guy? Show me."

The glint in Derek's eyes tells Stiles he's accepted the challenge.

[roundelet]

Part four of this untitled chubby!Derek thing that doesn’t want to end...

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

On Saturday, Stiles texts Derek that <<You should come pick me up like a real date.>> And he gets back an exasperated <<It is a real date>>. Followed by, <<Be ready at 7>>.

And now it's six fifty. Stiles frowns at his reflection in the mirror and strips his shirt back off, tosses it in the direction of a growing pile of discarded clothes. He grabs his phone.

"What do you wear on a date?" he demands as soon as Lydia picks up.

"A black dress is classy and versatile."

"Very funny." Stiles slams his dresser drawer shut. "But I have ten minutes and I've already changed outfits three times. I was going to wear that new shirt from the other day, but maybe a shirt with a logo is too casual? But is a button-up too fancy? Should I just wear a plain t-shirt? Should I wear a flannel? And then there's the jeans and I just don't--Lyds, I'm twenty-two, why don't I know how to do this?"

"Stiles," Lydia says firmly. "Calm down. Werewolves care more about smell than color coordination, anyways."

"Then maybe I should just shower again and go naked!" Stiles runs a hand through his hair and glances towards the clock. Then he pauses. "Wait. How did you know I was going out with a werewolf?"

"Because if you were going on a date with someone other than Derek, Erica would cut you," Lydia says matter-of-factly.

"That's should be creepy but it's actually kind of... no, it's still creepy." Stiles grabs one of the discarded shirts from the floor and holds it up in the mirror. "But, okay, yes. For some reason, Derek took pity on my pathetic mooning over him. But I'm pretty sure I only get the one chance here and I'm going to screw it up. I just don't know how yet."

"Stiles," Lydia says, then stops. For a moment, her voice sounds different, softer. But then she just sighs and says, "The dark jeans with the frayed hems that are tight around your butt. And that red shirt with the--"

On his way out of his apartment to meet Derek downstairs, Stiles shoves a couple condoms into his wallet. Then hesitates over grabbing a few packets of lube. On one hand, he doesn't want to be unprepared. On the other? These jeans aren't going to hide much, and he doesn't even know what Derek expects.

But then a pounding at the door startles him into dropping the lube packets back onto the counter.

Stiles opens the door and stares across the threshold dumbly. Then he finally says, "Uh, hi. I didn't think you'd be here."

"I told you I would," Derek frowns at him.

"No. I know. I just mean, up here, not down there here." Stiles gestures vaguely towards the parking lot, then lets his arm fall back down. Derek looks... good. Really good. "You got new clothes."

Derek's black shirt isn't strained across his middle for a change. It doesn't hide the fact that he has a belly, but it does leave the exact dimensions of it to the imagination. His jeans are still fastened below his tummy, but they must be at least one size up because it looks like Derek could actually take a deep breath without sending buttons flying.

"Yeah, I, uh. Needed some new ones," Derek says with a too-casual shrug.

"Bigger ones," Stiles blurts.

Derek averts his eyes. Jesus, it hasn't even been a full minute and Stiles's mouth is already screwing this up. No wonder Derek had been so hesitant to do anything besides fuck him in the first place.

"They look good," Stiles adds. "You look good. Not that that's exactly new information."

As they walk down the apartment stairs, Stiles eyes the hint of love handles under Derek's shirt; how his new jeans are still a little snug--in the best way ever--across his butt.

He thinks about the timing of Derek showing up in new clothes tonight. Derek had obviously sized up at least once while Stiles was at college last year. But his clothes have been too tight for at least a month now and he hadn't done anything about it until today.

Stiles tells himself it's just coincidence. The thought of Derek going out and buying more flattering clothing to impress Stiles is laughable, really, when Derek has to know that Stiles is *his*, however Derek will take him.

More likely Derek had to give up when he finally couldn't suck his belly in enough to get his old pants fastened.

They get to the bottom of the stairs in silence. Stiles asks, "So. Where are we going?"

Derek shrugs and says, "You'll see."

"All right, Mr Mysterious," Stiles rolls his eyes and gives Derek's solid shoulder a punch. "Let's go then."

Derek leads him to his Camaro and heads for the passenger door. For a ridiculous second, Stiles thinks he's going to let Stiles drive. But, before Stiles can analyze what that might mean, Derek pulls open the door and gestures inside.

"Oh, uh. Wow. You're holding the door for me." Stiles swallows, staring at him. "This is a thing that is happening. Like a real date."

Derek's eyes narrow at him as Stiles lowers himself into the car. He gets into the driver's seat and turns on the ignition but doesn't take the car out of park. Instead he turns to Stiles, expression inscrutable, and asks, "Do you not want this to be a date?"

"Yes!" Stiles exclaims eagerly. Then tones down his voice into something less embarrassing. "Yes, I do. It's just. It's not like I've dated that many people."

Derek frowns.

"Anyone. I mean. I haven't dated anyone. Ever," Stiles says, because obviously his brain hates him. God. Now Derek is giving him a concerned look that might be pity or guilt. Probably pity. "This is weird, though, right? You've spent hours rimming me, and I've ridden you until my legs collapsed and I know how you like me to lick the head of your dick right before you--"

"Stiles," Derek cuts in.

Stiles bites his lip and attempts to regroup. "But, the thing is, now we're going on a date and I'm going to say stupid shit and I'm going to talk with my mouth full and gross you out and screw everything up."

Strangely, Derek seems to relax at that. His mouth curves up as he shakes his head at Stiles and says, "But I already know you say stupid shit. And I've seen you talk with your mouth full. I know it's gross."

"God. Just kill me now," Stiles mutters.

"But," Derek continues. Stiles feels Derek's warm hand squeeze his bare forearm and Stiles glances back over at him. "I'm going to take you to dinner, anyways. And I'm still going to buy you curly fries."

Stiles orders a cheeseburger, a strawberry milkshake and, obviously, curly fries. Derek glances at him, then says he'll have the same.

"This is trippy, huh?" Stiles says, gesturing expansively around them. Derek just frowns. "You know, vinyl booths, soda fountains, freaking Rockwell paintings."

Derek crosses his arms across his chest. Stiles doesn't miss how beefy his arms look, even under his shirt, or how they rest where the top of his belly curves out below his pecs.

"You wanted milkshakes and curly fries," Derek says. "Thought this was a little classier than a fast food drive-thru."

"Dude, I'm not complaining," Stiles says. "It's just ironic, right? Us sitting here like we're two teenage virgins from 1950."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "You're the one who hasn't been on a date before. How do you know this isn't where all the cool kids go?"

Stiles barks out a laugh and says, "Nah, pretty sure that's the bowling alley."

"I guess I'll have to take you there next time, then," Derek says.

Stiles feels his heart skip a beat. He'd resigned himself to the eventuality of this being it for them. But Derek said the words 'next time' like he hadn't considered any other option. Stiles opens his mouth, probably to say something to make Derek reconsider that, but luckily that's when the waitress comes back with their food

It's not long before Derek's plate is reduced to a limp piece of garnish and Derek is taking the last sip of his milkshake. Meanwhile, Stiles isn't halfway through his burger and still has a heaping portion of curly fries left. And, sure, it's Stiles who's been doing most of the talking, but the responsibility for that can only go so far.

By the way Derek's looking at his plate in clear disappointment, he's obviously still hungry. And based on how quickly he's been packing on weight lately? He's probably used to eating a bit more than a normal-sized meal.

"You should, uh, order some more," Stiles says. He raises his arm to flag down their waitress.

"I'm fine," Derek says, his jaw clenched.

"Then at least have some of mine." Stiles slides his plate a couple inches forward, turning the curly fries to face Derek. For some reason, the thought of Derek eating more than him, of Derek eating his own full portion and finishing up Stiles's, is making Stiles feel--well, he's not sure how it's making him feel. All he knows is he'd really like for that to happen.

Derek glances at Stiles's plate, then up at Stiles, eyes narrowed. "I said I'm fine. I'm not going to take your food. You're too thin already."

Stiles bites back a defensive retort. He knows he's not much to look at. He's always been too skinny and he doesn't need the reminder that he's looking extra haggard this summer. Heartbreak didn't exactly whet his appetite. But his first impulse--to point out that Derek's fat enough for both of them--isn't exactly going to further his argument.

So he tries another tactic: "If you're not going to have any of mine, I'm ordering you more. I'm not going to eat alone here."

"Fine." Derek sits back, rolling his eyes.

Stiles shoots him a victory grin. Derek sighs but doesn't protest when Stiles tells their waitress they want another milkshake and curly fries.

Derek somehow finishes before Stiles yet again. At least this time Stiles only has a couple curly fries left and Derek's not looking at his own empty plate in not-quite-concealed hunger.

When they stand up to go, Stiles eyes the way Derek's shirt hugs his belly a little more snugly than it had when he'd picked Stiles up earlier.

"You could come up?" Stiles offers when Derek pulls up in front of his apartment building. When Derek doesn’t answer, Stiles twists his fingers into the hem of his own t-shirt and says, "Or not."

Derek still doesn’t say anything, but he reaches over, palms Stiles's cheek and then leans in to press a kiss to his lips. Stiles lets his mouth part, but Derek doesn't move to deepen the kiss. Instead, he pulls back, leaving his hand cupping Stiles's face.

"Let's take it slow this time," Derek says.

Stiles frowns. "How slow? Like Rockwell painting slow?"

Derek huffs out a laugh, runs his thumb across Stiles's cheekbone. "Maybe a little faster than that."

"Yeah. Okay. Sure," Stiles says. And he's surprised to find that it is okay with him. He likes sex with Derek. He really likes sex with Derek. But given a choice between the occasional fuck they used to have and dating the guy? Stiles shoots Derek a smile as he reaches for the doorhandle. "I don't put out on a first date, anyway."

[roundelet]

Next part of this chubby!Derek, emotionally-constipated-boys thing. Because misunderstandings might be my second biggest kink but I’m not cruel.

Part One

Part Two

Three scary girls corner Stiles in the kitchen of his new apartment.

Lydia gives him a not-so-friendly punch.

"Hey, ow," Stiles says, rubbing his shoulder. Scott and Isaac are bringing up his new couch--because what good are werewolf friends if they don't carry your Ikea furniture up three flights of stairs--but now Stiles finds himself wishing they hadn't left him alone here. "What was that for?"

"Don't be a wimp," Lydia says, folding her arms. Allison’s watching him with raised eyebrows. Erica’s just smirking. "And you know what that was for."

"Uh, no, I really don't," Stiles says, spreading his arms wide. "I can think of eleven things I've done this week that I probably deserve to be punched for, but I don't think you were present for any of them and--"

Lydia cuts him off with an expertise born of years of acquaintanceship: "You don't talk about other people's weight, Stiles."

Stiles boggles at her.

"You mean the other night? With Derek?" It's not like there's anyone else's weight Stiles is interested in. Not that he's interested in Derek's. But anyways. "Look. I was just. Surprised? Concerned?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "You're twenty-two and I know you weren't raised by wolves. At some point you must have learned not to point out when someone’s gained a few pounds."

Stiles scratches at the back of his neck. "I know. I just. It's Derek, though."

It’s not like he doesn’t remember Derek's wide eyes and the way they looked almost hurt when Stiles brought up his pretty obvious weight gain. And he'd feel shitty about it, really shitty, except he can't remember that without remembering later and how Derek made it clear how little he thought of Stiles. It's not like Derek would actually care what his ex-fuck buddy thought of his wider waistline.

He looks back up at the three scariest girls he knows and says, "I mean, come on, his six pack used to have a six pack. And now he's all--"

"Safe," Allison says firmly.

"Um? Not exactly the word I--”

"He's been alone for years. He's had to be vigilant all the time," Allison says. "But now he's part of a real pack. He probably feels safe for the first time since he was a kid."

"Oh," Stiles says. He stares down at scuffed yellow linoleum (because his place is classy like that). "That's--that's good for him, then."

His front door slams open and he hears Scott and Isaac trying to maneuver his couch through it. He's pretty sure the grunting is only for effect. They're werewolves for god's sake.

Lydia and Allison go off to direct them where to place the couch. Stiles might have thought this was his reprieve, except that Erica steps in closer with a twinkle in her eyes.

"That's not why Derek's bulking up," she tells him. "It’s not because he’s 'safe'."

"Okay?"

"You want to know why he actually lost his six-pack?"

"Not really," Stiles says. Because as much as he really does want to know, he also wants to stop talking about this. It’s all just making him think about Derek's softer body and how he's never even going to know what it feels like. How he’s not going to know if his pecs are softer or what his bigger ass looks like out of his jeans. How he's never going to know what his belly feels like to touch, to squeeze, to press his lips into. How he’s never going to get to drag his dick up the soft bottom part of it--

"Eew, Stiles, I can smell you. Stop." Erica wrinkles her nose and Stiles feels his cheeks heat up.

"I, uh, was just thinking about something else. Someone else," he says weakly. Fucking werewolves.

"Right." She rolls her eyes. "Anyways, Derek's been eating a lot."

"Oh, wow, ok. So he's gaining weight for the usual reasons, then?" Stiles snarks.

"He's been eating pancakes with disgusting amounts of whipped cream," Erica continues. "And drinking strawberry milk shakes. And eating curly fries. Lots of curly fries."

"Curly fries are the manna of the gods," Stiles agrees.

"He's also been buying family size bags of Cool Ranch chips," Erica says meaningfully. "Family size."

"That's what I always eat, though," Stiles says. "They’ve never given me a gut."

"That's because you're a freak of nature, Stilinski," Erica confirms.

-------------------

​ Stiles had a spell. It was a good one, okay? He'd been practicing in the back of Deaton's clinic for the better part of a week.

And it had worked. He'd had everything under control.

Kind of.

Okay, it might have been a good thing that Derek had shown up out of nowhere in the middle of the woods to kill the freakishly giant rodent. But Stiles had to at least get credit for subduing it first.

"Heyyy there, Derek." Stiles leans casually against a tree and tries to pretend that it’s not the first time in two months they’ve been alone together. He watches Derek's features rearrange into something a little more human. "What are you up to out here? Nice night for a forest stroll, huh?"

Derek doesn’t say anything. His jaw is set in a hard line as he stalks up to Stiles. Then grabs him by the neck of his t-shirt and shoves him back into said tree.

"Dude, what the f--" Stiles gasps.

Derek's lips slam into his.

Stiles's mouth drops open when Derek bites his lip a little too hard. He hears himself moan and retaliates by licking his way into Derek's mouth. Derek tightens his bruising grip on his shoulders.

Stiles slides his hands under Derek's leather jacket. He digs his fingers into Derek's back. Strong muscles shift under new soft flesh as Derek presses in closer.

Derek cups Stiles's jaw and he holds him still as he invades Stiles's mouth. Stiles can't stop the embarrassing noises he makes, the way his hips jut helplessly forward.

And then Derek pulls back to glare at him.

"Don't do that again.”

"Uh, what?" His brain takes time to get back on board after a kiss like that, especially when it’s the last thing he’d expected.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Derek demands. He's still holding Stiles against the tree, one hand with gripping his shoulder, the other holding his jaw. "You came out here all alone. You could have called one of us. You could have--"

"I thought you didn't want this," Stiles blurts out.

"What?" Derek looks confused for a moment before seeming to remember that he's angry and narrows his eyes again.

"Look, I'm sorry I bothered you," Stiles says. "You didn't have to come. I don’t even know how you knew I was here."

Derek lets out a long breath. His grip on Stiles's shoulder slackens and Stiles takes the opportunity to push him back so he can take a few steps away.

"You look like hell, Stiles," Derek says.

"Thanks a lot, man.”

"Are you even taking care of yourself? You haven't been coming out with the pack anymore and then I find you here on some kind of suicide mission... Are you sleeping? Are you having nightmares again? Are you even eating?"

Stiles has looked in the mirror, thank you very much. Seen the dark circles and hollow cheeks and shirts that hang morosely off his shoulders.

But he forces a weak laugh. "Looks like you're eating enough for the both of us, buddy." He glances pointedly down at where Derek's stomach is straining against his black shirt, obvious even in the moonlight that it’s a size too tight.

Derek glares back at him.

"Look." Stiles deflates. "I'm sorry I'm not taking our break up as well as you’d like, but--"

"Break up," Derek repeats.

Stiles looks away into the dark woods. "I know, I know. As far as you're concerned, it doesn't count. I mean, we were just fuck buddies or whatever, right? And that's fine. I mean, no, that's not fine. But it's not like you promised me anything else. It's my own damn fault for thinking it could be more. Can't you just let me be pathetic on my own?"

He turns around to leave.

"Stiles," Derek says quietly. "You think I broke up with you?"

"No," Stiles runs a hand through his hair and lets out a laugh that sounds a little maniacal to his own ears. He still doesn't turn back around. "I know you didn't break up with me because we weren't together, ok? Now, can we just drop this for, like, forever?"

When Stiles gets back to his Jeep and goes to unlock the door, he hears a voice say his name.

"Gah!" He whirls around. And then tries to force his heart to calm the fuck down. "Oh my god. Would it kill you to make a little noise once in a while? Rustle a leaf or two?"

Derek looks at him like he’s trying to figure something out.

"What? You need a ride back to town?"

"No. I." Derek shakes his head, frowning down at the asphalt before looking back up. "I wanted to ask. If you want to go out with me sometime."

"Uh." Stiles fidgets with the keychain in his palm. This is beyond what his brain is currently capable of processing. "Do you mean, like--"

"Like a date," Derek clarifies. "Do you want to date me?"

“You’re kind of giving me whiplash here, dude,” Stiles says, trying to cover up that his heart’s speeding up again. “You realize you’re going to be financially responsible for any chiropractor bills?”

Derek watches him.

"Yeah," Stiles says, and he clears his throat. "Yeah, we could. We could do that. The dating thing. That could be a thing we do."

Derek's shoulders visibly relax, as if he'd really thought that Stiles could say no.

Stiles ducks his head because he can't help a soppy smile. Derek's shirt is ridden up a little, probably from jogging after Stiles. It reveals a bulge of chub that sticks out over the waist of his jeans.

He thinks about what Erica said about Derek's diet lately. He glances back up. "Someplace with curly fries and milkshakes?"

Derek's lips curve. "I think we can manage that."

-------------------

Not the end.

[roundelet]

A continuation of whatever that last post was. (Thank you all for all the likes. I’m kind of blushing.)

Derek has a belly and Stiles likes Derek’s belly. Misunderstandings happen. I have a happier, pornier next part in mind.

[Also apparently I don’t know any movie names. The last thing I saw in the theater was The Winter Soldier and I don’t think that’s the one Lydia would have chosen?]

Derek used to straddle the line between "I can see all your muscles because you are cut" and "I can see all your muscles because you are starving". Sure, whenever he took off his shirt (or had it shredded off of him; bad guys seemed to appreciate him shirtless as much as Stiles did), Stiles's first thought was always that he was hot as fuck. But his second thoughts usually involved filling Derek's fridge with something other than protein drinks.

But then it was Stiles's sophomore year. And when he came home for winter break it was to the sight of Derek's skinny jeans obscenely snug over his thighs and ass. When Stiles ripped off Derek's shirt, he reached out to trace over the lightly outlined muscles of Derek's abs.

"I only count six," Stiles had blurted out and then moaned because Derek was rather occupied with his neck.

"What are you talking about?" Derek pulled back to look at him.

"Oh I just... happen to like the number six?" Stiles said. It was a better number than ten. Or had it been twelve? He'd never been entirely clear on what counted as an ab muscle. Derek used to have muscles on muscles. And anatomy wasn't exactly core curriculum for Western Mythology majors.

"You want to take an anatomy class?" Derek repeated. Because Stiles couldn't exactly be bothered with a brain-to-mouth filter when he was busy sliding his hands down to Derek's butt, to the denim stretched tight over it.

"Not anymore. I can count to six. God, Derek, you feel good." Stiles squeezed the rounder curve of Derek's ass. They'd hooked up a couple times the last summer, right before he'd gone back to college, but Stiles could still barely believe this was allowed.

He saw Derek give a shake of his head as he tugged Stiles closer in. Naturally, he went right back to his neck.

Not that Stiles was complaining, even if it meant he'd have to dig out his ugly old turtleneck from the back of his closet. Because Derek's hips were grinding into him, and...

---------------------

Now, though.

Stiles stares at Derek as he passes around the pizzas for Stiles's first pack night since his graduation. Sometime between when he'd visited the Christmas of his senior year and now, Derek had made it up to a normal human body fat percentage. And then apparently forgotten to stop there.

Stiles watches Derek's new soft belly. Watches it fold over the waist of his jeans as he leans over the coffee table to hand Boyd a pizza box. Watches Derek's henley ride up and show an inch or so of pale soft skin. Watches Derek tug it back down.

Derek heads to the armchair on the other side of Lydia's living room. His middle bulges out even wider when he sits. Derek has to adjust the waist of his jeans and he has to tug his shirt down again. Stiles looks around the room and everyone’s talking about movies or something and how is this even happening? Why is no one else freaking out about this?

Stiles glances back at Derek and Derek is looking back at him. He quirks an eyebrow and his lips curve just a little.

Stiles bites down on his own lip to keep from saying anything. Because he'd just promised Scott yesterday he wouldn't bring it up.

So it must be someone else who blurts out, "Wow, how much weight did you pack on, man?"

"Stiles!" Comes Scott's betrayed exclamation from next to him. Erica fails to smother a snicker.

Derek freezes with a slice of meat lovers pizza halfway to his mouth. His eyes widen and for a split moment they look hurt and surprised. And then they shutter, cold and blank and all too familiar.

Shit.

"It's not a bad thing," Stiles clarifies. "It's just kind of a lot?"

Derek drops his pizza slice down onto his paper plate (because Lydia knows better than to let werewolves use her real dishes). Scott is saying Stiles's name again. Lydia is frowning at him. Boyd is rolling his eyes. And Isaac... Isaac is giving him his sad puppy eyes. God.

Stiles opens his mouth to try to fix this, but Lydia cuts in. "We're watching ________ tonight. My place, my rules."

And, right, that had been the conversation Stiles has interrupted. An argument over ______ versus _______.

"But--" Erica starts to complain.

"My place, my rules," Lydia repeats firmly. But she's looking at Stiles when she says it.

At the end of the night, Stiles glances over at Derek's plate. He’s relieved to see it's filled with more crumbs than one or two slices of pizza can account for. Because Stiles hasn't even touched Derek's new belly yet and he's already feeling attached.

---------------------

Stiles follows Derek through the parking lot.

Derek doesn't turn around until he gets to his car door. Then he looks at Stiles through eyes that are still shuttered. His voice is weary when he says, "What do you want?"

Stiles wants to say: To un-hurt you. To make your eyes soft again. To kiss and make up and get to know your new body because I think I’m going to like it a lot.

Instead he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and says, "I shouldn't have said anything. I was just surprised. I didn't mean--"

"No, I get it, Stiles," Derek says, voice dripping with something bitter. "You're just disappointed you lost your hot fuck buddy."

The words hit Stiles like a rogue omega just punched him in the chest.

"Oh," he says. Because there is so much terribleness in that sentence.

It's not like Stiles was naive enough to call Derek his boyfriend or anything. Not when with every school break he’d still nervously wonder if he'd be welcome back at his loft. Not when in three years they hadn't even told anyone. Stiles knows this was only casual.

But the way Derek said it, as if ending whatever it was between them had been some kind of decision Stiles was supposed to have known about.

Maybe this was getting to real for Derek, now that Stiles wasn’t conveniently heading back to college in a couple weeks. Maybe he had other fuck buddies he liked better than Stiles. Maybe Stiles was just getting in the way--

“Okay,” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice steady. Derek is already getting into the Camaro. “Sorry for bothering you. I just. I guess I’ll see you around, then.”